


Breathe Me In

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Ace Frank Castle, Asexual Character, Blind Character, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fratt - Freeform, Implied Karen/Dinah, M/M, Pancakes, Touch Starved Frank Castle, Who Put Feelings In My Porn, background Foggy/Marci, sex positive asexual, timelines what timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: Matt's gone and fallen for Frank Castle because he's incapable of making good life choices, but they've got some things to clear up first.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 39
Kudos: 190





	Breathe Me In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anabeauce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anabeauce/gifts).



> Final comm for the awesome Anabeauce, who wanted a sex positive ace!Frank with Matt. Because I'm a cis bi man with next to no experience with asexuality (and holy shit, ace guys, I'm sorry, there's not a lot of resources out there for you), I consulted with some awesome folks from the ace community and blended a lot of their experiences into Frank for this fic. I really hope I did him some justice. Thanks as usual to my Murder Wife, [Sevdrag,](http://sevdrag.tumblr.com) and to [Nny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny) and [Arson](http://hawksonfire.tumblr.com) for your help!

As he groans and buries his face back into his pillow, the scents that immediately hit Matt’s nose are nothing new: antiseptic, blood both old and fresh, sweat, that clean, sterile smell of fresh bandages. The stitches in his arm pull as he gropes around the end table for his phone, bringing with it the warmth of new blood beading out of the wound, the scent acrid and metallic.

He mumbles a query to his phone, which chirps back that it’s ten thirteen in the morning. At least it’s Saturday, probably the best morning to be nursing a hangover and licking his wounds.

Frank’s scent lingers in the room, heavy and calming as it cuts through the other, more unpleasant scents to Matt’s nose. His side of the bed is cold and there’s moisture in the air with fading traces of toothpaste and aftershave. He’s still in the apartment; Matt can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, probably looking for some sort of cooking utensil Matt doesn’t own, his steady heartbeat audible behind the sliding door.

Sighing, Matt sits up and runs his hands over his face as the previous night’s events come back to him. Too much bourbon after a particularly vicious fight with some AIM douchebags – probably not a great idea with the blood loss Matt’d suffered. Frank had been open and relaxed for once as he’d stitched Matt up with solid hands despite going shot for shot with him earlier, and Matt’d probably pushed too hard.

Matt gets it, he really does. He’s pretty sure he would’ve had a tough time with sex if the love of his life had been gunned down brutally in front of him, and really, he tries not to push Frank past his comfort zone. It just doesn’t help that Matt’s sex drive has always been through the roof and Frank Castle happens to be an excellent kisser.

Heat rushes to his cheeks as the rest of the previous night comes back in embarrassing clarity. So he might have popped off early just from kissing and riding Frank’s thigh, then passed out in a post-orgasmic daze as Frank laughed and cleaned him up. He’s done worse - the problem is he actually _likes_ Frank when they’re not beating the shit out of each other, and he’s not in college anymore.

Wincing as the bruises along his ribs make themselves known, Matt swings his legs out of bed and smiles a little as his favourite pair of socks hit the floor. Frank must’ve dressed him in his comfiest sweats and socks before going to sleep, a small detail that makes Matt’s heart twist just a little bit.

He slides open the bedroom door and sniffs appreciatively, his nose twitching a little at the hint of cinnamon alongside the standard Bisquick mix and butter. Frank’s heartbeat ticks up a notch as Matt pads over to the fridge, but settles smoothly back to its usual rhythm.

Opening the fridge, Matt counts out three bottles from the outside of the door and pulls out the orange juice, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig even as Frank snorts and opens the cabinet to the right.

“Use a glass, you shit. Who the fuck raised you?” Frank teases, his fingers brushing Matt’s as he takes the bottle and pours it into the glass.

“Nuns,” Matt replies with a grin, accepting the glass and taking a sip. “You try being a kid with not only the fear of God, but the fear of Sister Esther’s ruler; you’d drink out of the bottle too when you got the chance.”

Frank snorts and the pan sizzles as he pours out the pancake mix, the spoon roughly scraping the bottom of the bowl. He’s got two pans going on Matt’s stove and he adjusts the far one and tosses the bowl in the sink.

Setting the glass of juice down on the counter, Matt wraps an arm around Frank’s waist and rests his chin on the man’s shoulder, breathing in his heady scent through the t-shirt he’d worn the night before. “I uh… I wanted to apologize,” Matt murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of Frank’s neck just under his ear.

The muscles and tendons under Matt’s chin shift as Frank turns his head, tilting it slightly. “What d’you mean? What’d you do now?”

Matt leans back and scratches the back of his head, keeping one hand on Frank’s waist to keep track of his body movements. “Last night, after you patched me up. I got a little too into things and I should have better control over myself than that,” he clarified. “I shouldn’t have pushed you before we talked about it, and I’m sorry.”

Frank’s heartbeat gives nothing away, not that it usually ever does. He’s quiet for a couple of seconds, flips a pancake and checks another. “Shit, Red,” he sighs and Matt resists the urge to bring a hand up to his face, to read his expression. “You think I wouldn’t have stopped you if you’d done anything I wasn’t comfortable with? Haven’t heard of too many middle-aged lawyers coming in their pants, but hey, I don’t judge.”

There’s a smile in Frank’s voice and Matt swats his shoulder, some of the tension draining out of him. “Fuck you, Frank, I’m not middle-aged.”

“Last I checked, you were pushing forty.”

Matt laughs and shoves Frank again, his pulse spiking as Frank grabs his wrists and tugs him close. Chapped lips brush his, breaking away before Matt can deepen it.

“Seriously though,” Matt continues, because he’s nothing if not Catholic and he has to wallow in his guilt just a little bit more. Getting let off with a jab and a kiss is just too easy. “I’m sorry. Even if you were okay with it, I should have at least offered to return the favour, but I just fell asleep on you like a kid on his first date.”

“And I’m serious, Red. I didn’t mind,” Frank replies, flipping another pancake. He releases Matt’s wrist and loops his free arm around his waist, tugging him close and rubbing his thumb over Matt’s bare hipbone. “You’ve got that weird hypersensitivity goin’ for you and, I don’t know - I just liked that you let yourself go like that. Was nice.”

Heat’s rising toward Frank’s neck, that little flush he gets whenever Matt calls him out for being domestic or he lets it slip that he maybe cares a little bit more about Matt than he lets on. They haven’t really discussed much of anything – hell, until last night they hadn’t even done anything other than kissing – but somehow, somewhere, they started joking more than yelling, touching more than hitting, and Frank’s stuff started migrating into Matt’s loft. Frank’s never really shown any sign of wanting to push things further physically though, so Matt had been expecting his slip-up to be potentially disastrous.

But no, Frank’s heartbeat is steady despite the flush; he’s not lying. He’s about as relaxed as Matt’s ever felt him, warm against Matt’s side, his left hand drawing absent patterns on Matt’s skin while his right flips the pancakes.

Domestic. Who’d have thought.

Matt rests his cheek against Frank’s shoulder, breathing in the man’s scent through the thin cotton t-shirt. “It was pretty nice,” he agrees, content to let his worries drop for the time being. “Maybe next time I can get you to let go a little bit.”

Which is apparently the wrong fucking thing to say because Frank stiffens almost imperceptibly, his heart beating out of rhythm for just a split second before he’s back to his usual maddeningly steady shell. “We can talk about it,” he allows, turning to press a kiss to Matt’s head before letting him go to turn the heat down on the stovetop.

Matt’s dated enough to know that “talking about it” is never a good phrase and it’d be the first time they ever actually _talked_ about anything – that time on the roof when they’d argued ethics and Frank’d killed Matt’s client notwithstanding. He’s not sure how to take either the phrase or Frank’s kiss, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before a plate full of heavenly-smelling cinnamon pancakes is shoved into his hands.

~*~*~*~

They _don’t_ talk about it later. Frank gets a tip about one of the targets he’s been waiting on in Hoboken and Matt debates the merits of going out and beating the shit out of Turk.

Four days pass without any word from Frank apart from his nightly “Alive” texts. The lack of communication isn’t anything new; Matt never initiates any conversation when Frank’s out on a job for fear of accidentally putting him in danger and Frank’s always consistent in his proof of life texts, if a bit succinct. It’s for the best – Frank’s not very chatty on a good day and Matt doesn’t want to know any details. Still, the radio silence is particularly agonizing after their last morning together and Matt drives Foggy and Karen up a wall with his pacing and irritability.

Their morning hadn’t even gone badly, but Matt just keeps replaying Frank’s words in his head over and over again, trying to remember any clues he may have missed in his heart rate or scent. He almost wishes he could’ve seen Frank’s expression, but he knows it would have been as stoic and neutral as everything else about the man.

What drives him up a wall though is he can’t think of any positive reaction Frank had displayed that night aside from continuing to kiss him and holding him close as Matt had rutted against his thigh. There hadn’t been any negative reactions, sure, no obvious recoiling or uneasiness, but Matt can’t remember any of the usual signs of clear arousal either – no spike in pheromones, no obviously hard cock in his sweatpants, no unusual rises in his pulse.

Maybe Frank just isn’t ready yet, despite his reassurances that Matt hadn’t done anything wrong.

Foggy pokes his head into Matt’s office and tells him he’s coming out to Josie’s with him and Karen and he’s going to enjoy himself, dammit. He tosses Matt his jacket before Matt can argue and ducks out quickly, narrowly avoiding getting hit in the head with a crumpled ball of paper.

Alcohol probably isn’t the best way to deal with his anxiety, but Matt’s never been in the business of making smart life choices. He gives in – he always does – and grabs his cane and jacket and follows Foggy out the door.

They’re on their second pitcher of whatever paint thinner Josie’s passing for beer these days and Matt’s starting to feel more relaxed. Foggy’s telling some story about his and Marci’s honeymoon, gesticulating wildly and spilling more of his beer than he’s drinking. Karen’s laughter is infectious, as is Foggy’s unrestrained enthusiasm, and Matt regrets not spending time with his friends sooner.

He sits back and sips his beer, grinning at Foggy’s impression of Marci, when he catches a scent he’d know anywhere – gunpowder, the faintest hint of iron and blood, and that stupid pomegranate shampoo.

Next to Matt, Foggy’s heart rate stutters a little in fear. Foggy’s never been a fan of Frank even after they all called a cease fire, and while he reluctantly allows Frank’s presence, he still has a healthy dose of fear for the man.

“Mind if I join you?” Frank rumbles from Matt’s right shoulder. A callused hand brushes Matt’s cheek, the only PDA they typically allow themselves.

Karen rises to her feet with a happy exclamation and throws her arms around Frank’s neck. “Please do! I’ll grab you a glass.”

Frank drags a chair over and plants himself between Matt and Karen, his hand finding Matt’s thigh underneath the table and squeezing reassuringly.

“I’d ask how you’ve been, but I’m assuming plausible deniability is probably my safest bet here,” Foggy quips, his heart rate settling down into a more normal range.

There’s definitely residual blood on Frank’s jacket, but it’s at least a day or two old and he clearly showered before coming out to Josie’s. Much better than the days where he’d come straight into Matt’s office with gore still drying on his hands.

“Probably,” Frank agrees. He thanks Karen as she returns to the table with a glass and pours himself a beer. “Might offend your delicate sensibilities.”

Foggy sputters and Matt relaxes. Nothing about Frank is stressed; he’s on alert – he always is – but he’s in good humour and about as chilled out as the Punisher gets in public.

Reaching over, he settles his palm on Frank’s thigh under the table and raises an eyebrow in surprise when Frank laces his fingers through his own.

“I’d hate to drink and run, but you guys mind if I steal Red?” Frank asks. It’s directed at Karen; Frank gives no shits about Foggy’s opinion of him, but he’s rightfully respectful of Karen Page.

“Please do,” Karen replies. “You guys are all reminding me that I’m hopelessly single.”

“Didn’t you have a date with Frank’s HomeSec agent?” Foggy asks, because he clearly has zero sense of self-preservation. “How’d that go?”

Karen’s pulse speeds up and she sputters into her beer. “That was _not_ a date! That was an interview!”

“Multitasking, Karen; I like it,” Matt laughs, earning him a smack in the process. He laughs again and finishes his beer, the light buzz of alcohol and Frank’s hand warm and grounding in his making his worries melt away. Shifting, he digs his wallet out of his pocket and finds a twenty folded along the left side and drops it on the table. “Let me know if you get a second interview then; I’m curious.”

He unfolds his cane to the sound of Karen’s vague threats and Foggy’s laughter, Frank’s hand moving to the small of his back as they stand. Curling his hand around Frank’s bicep, he lets the man guide him through the crowds and out into the cool Manhattan streets.

The light breeze brings a myriad of scents that Matt filters through on autopilot. He’s far more interested in Frank’s scent and what he can derive of his mood through the faint undertones of sweat and chemicals his body’s producing.

“So, you had something you wanted to talk about that morning,” Matt says after they’ve walked a block in comfortable silence. “Before you went to Jersey.”

Frank hums in agreement, the hoodie moving as he nods. His pulse is steady, none of his usual fear scents – not that Frank usually shows much fear to begin with – and Matt can feel his eyes on him for a long moment.

“Did you want to wait until we got home?” Matt’s not sure if Frank needs the out, needs a bit more time, or if he’s just picking his words at his own pace. He can’t get a solid read on Frank, he usually can’t, and it’s more frustrating than ever.

“Nah,” Frank says, reaching up to pat Matt’s hand around his arm. “Nah, it ain’t nothing like that, Red. I wouldn’t have left it if it were urgent. Just not sure how you’re gonna take it, that’s all.” There’s a flicker in Frank’s pulse, a flush of heat up his neck that Matt can sense even with his hood up. “It’s got nothin’ to do with you, it’s just… personal shit, I guess.”

Personal shit? Frank never talks about personal shit except if something reminds him of Maria or the kids; he’ll get quiet and tell the story, the warmth and affection a tangible thing in his voice. He’s never been hesitant to talk about them though, and Matt can’t think of anything that’d cause it. He jostles Frank’s shoulder with his own and squeezes his bicep. “Pretty sure there’s not much you can tell me that’s gonna make me change my mind about you. I’m stubborn like that,” he teases.

“Irish stubbornness,” Frank grunts, relaxing a fraction. He’s still uneasy, that sour note of apprehension tainting his scent, but at least he’s willing to joke. “The night before I left when we had sex –“

“I’m not sure you can call that sex,” Matt interjects, feeling his own cheeks heat in embarrassment. “With actual sex I try not to come in my pants and I make sure my partner’s satisfied too. That was… something I’d rather not repeat.”

To Matt’s surprise, Frank laughs as they turn onto the block where Matt lives. “I’d rather you be out of your pants next time too ‘cause that shit gets uncomfortable real fast, but, Matt, don’t think I wasn’t satisfied. I told you the other morning: I enjoyed watching you like that and I’d like to see it again, if you’re okay with not getting the same reaction outta me.”

“I guess I’m not following.”

Frank’s neck heats again, his pulse wavering slightly. He pushes his hood back and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s more that I find people… I don’t know, aesthetically pleasing. Not sexually. It’s not you, it’s not new, it’s always been a thing, even when I was a teenager. I’m not opposed to sex at all – hell, I enjoy it probably as much as you do – I just enjoy it for different reasons.”

It’s a relief to hear that Frank’s hesitation hadn’t been a result of his trauma. Matt’s peripherally aware of asexuality, though he can’t say he’s had any personal experience with it that he’s aware of, and the more he thinks on it, the more it makes sense for Frank. Maybe he hadn’t gotten Frank as well as he’d originally thought, but he’s got time to work it out. “Why do you enjoy it?” he asks, rubbing his thumb against Frank’s arm through his jacket. “And, please, yell at me if it’s not something I should ask, I’m just curious.”

Frank shrugs and the familiar scents of Matt’s apartment building drift around them. “Why do you enjoy it, other than the physical aspect?” he counters.

“Intimacy,” Matt replies after a second’s thought. He digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to the lobby, holding the door open for Frank. “It’s the closest you can get to someone, especially someone you care about.” He trips over the word ‘care,’ nearly slipping up and revealing the depths of his feelings that Frank’s managed to evoke.

“And that’s why I enjoy it,” Frank replies, voice a little more confident as they climb the stairs to Matt’s apartment. “I like the physical intimacy, sure, even though it doesn’t affect me the same way it does you, but… shit, Red. There ain’t no feeling in the world like seein’ someone I love like that. If I can make them feel that good, be that open? I’ve spent my life takin’ people apart; sometimes it’s nice to put people back together.”

Matt unlocks the door and leans against the doorframe. He blocks Frank’s path with his cane and wraps an arm around his waist. “Is this okay?” he asks, hesitating as he tilts his head toward where Frank’s face should be.

Frank’s breath is warm against Matt’s face as he huffs a laugh and Matt can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. “Do you really think I’d have kissed you all those times if it wasn’t?”

Good enough for Matt. He slides his hand up to cup Frank’s cheek, feeling out the planes of his face as he kisses him slowly.

“You know I’ve got a hundred questions for you,” Matt murmurs against Frank’s lips, his the pads of his fingers rasping over Frank’s unkempt stubble, over the cheekbone that’s been broken enough for Matt to still be able to feel the exact spots where the bone gave way.

“And you can ask all of ‘em, but later,” Frank promises, kissing Matt again and tugging him forward into the apartment. He takes Matt’s cane and folds it carefully and hangs it on the coat rack, then hooks his fingers into Matt’s belt loops, kicking the door shut. “I’ve kinda got some plans for you that I think you’ll like if you can stop talkin’ for a bit.”

Matt’s never one who’s needed to be told twice. A grin stretches across his face as he allows Frank to pull him toward the bedroom. He kicks off his shoes and hears Frank settle on the bed, hears the whisper of laces as Frank removes his boots.

“C’mere,” Frank says, his hands slipping into Matt’s to pull him close. Those hands move to untuck Matt’s shirt and slide up his scarred abdomen, making Matt suck in a breath at the feeling. “Get comfortable; lose the pants this time, yeah?”

Laughing, Matt kisses Frank deeply, running his hands through the short hair and scratching at the base of his scalp where he knows Frank likes. He grins in satisfaction as Frank arches his neck like a cat and leans into the touch. “I do have a question though,” he says lazily, because his curiosity isn’t at the point where he can be totally distracted yet. “Why didn’t you tell me? When we first got together?”

“It never came up,” Frank says simply as he undoes the buttons of Matt’s button-down. “We didn’t really talk about _us_ or shit like that, so I figured I’d just tell you when it was relevant. Just had to hope you didn’t have a problem with it.”

“Did you think I would?”

Frank pops the last button and pauses, his callused hands resting just over Matt’s hipbones. Matt can feel his eyes on him, feels one hand move up to his face to remove his sunglasses and cup his cheek. “I wasn’t sure,” Frank admits, his voice quiet the way he gets when he’s talking about something emotional. “I know sex is important to you, and I knew we’d at least have to make some adjustments, but I was hoping what we have isn’t just based on sex for you.”

“It’s not,” Matt replies firmly, draping his arms across Frank’s shoulders and leaning down to rest their foreheads together. “I mean, you smell good and you feel good, and I’ve always been attracted to that, but that’s not what this has been for me.”

Frank’s body heat rises a fraction and Matt can feel him smile. “And I’ll answer your fuckin’ questions later and I promise I’ll tell you if I’m uncomfortable or don’t like anything, but I really want to see you touch yourself and come on my chest right now.”

Matt sucks in a breath, his cock twitching in the confines of his pants. All his senses are laser focused on Frank and he’s hard in an instant. “Frank, you can’t just…”

“What? I can’t dirty talk?” Frank laughs, his fingers dipping into the waistband of Matt’s pants, teasing. “I’m ace, Red, not a prude.” He stretches up to whisper in Matt’s ear as he unbuckles the belt and pops the button on Matt’s slacks. “I wanna see you naked and I want you to show me what you like.”

Letting out a noise that’s half growl, half laugh, Matt shoves Frank flat onto his back on the bed and divests himself of his pants and boxers in one motion. Toeing off his socks, he prowls up the bed until he meets Frank’s grinning face. “I was going to say you can’t boss me around, but feel free to keep talking like that,” he purrs, biting at the bolt of Frank’s jaw and running his hands over his firm chest.

“And you tell me I’m the one who’s got authority issues,” Frank murmurs, tugging Matt close to kiss him, his hands mapping out every part of Matt’s body he can reach.

Matt groans as Frank tugs gently at his hair but reluctantly slows down, easing the kisses into slow, gentle explorations of each other’s mouths in contrast to the harsh pace Matt had set. They part only when Frank hauls his t-shirt over his head then they’re back together, Frank cradling Matt close, breathing each other’s air. It’s one of the most intimate things Matt’s experienced and he takes a second to pant into Frank’s mouth, trying to get himself under control.

Frank’s having none of it though. He moves Matt’s hands from his face to his chest, encouraging him to touch and feel the expanse of bare skin. He’s got one hand still in Matt’s hair, the other scratching lightly down the scars along his spine, as he leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses along Matt’s jaw.

The rough scratch of denim against Matt’s sensitive skin puts a damper on his arousal though, and he shifts in Frank’s lap, trying to find some sort of comfort.

“Here,” Frank grunts, tapping Matt’s hip. There’s a snap of a button and the rasp of a zipper and the bed dips as Frank divests himself of his jeans. “Try that.”

The skin of Frank’s thighs is soft, but whatever material his boxer briefs are made out of is even softer. Matt groans and relaxes back into Frank’s lap, his fingers going back to their previous exploration of the scars on Frank’s chest. “Are these silk? Did you get silk boxer briefs for this?”

“They’re goddamn Armani, they better be silk,” Frank mutters, sitting upright and holding Matt close. “They don’t chafe, right?”

Matt throws his head back and laughs. He kisses away Frank’s frown, smoothing out the creases of his forehead with his lips. “Frank, you didn’t have to buy Armani underwear just so we could have sex.”

“I wanted you to be comfortable; I know you’re fussy with your fabrics and your fuckin’ superpowers.”

“Enhanced senses,” Matt corrects automatically as his fingertips dip into a bullet scar on Frank’s shoulder just under his collarbone.

“Tomato, tomahto. Those senses apply to everything?” Frank asks, hauling Matt close in his lap and peppering hot, wet kisses across his torso.

Swallowing heavily, Matt’s hand twitches toward his cock as his senses drown in everything Frank Castle. Even without heavy arousal present, Frank’s scent is intoxicating and heady, overpowering everything else around them. He bites his lip to stop himself from crying out as Frank sucks a bruise into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Could you come from just this?” Frank murmurs, biting at Matt’s collarbone.

“Fuck,” Matt groans, feeling fluid start to drip from the tip of his cock, his hips jerking forward abortively. “This isn’t fair.”

Frank takes one of Matt’s hands and brings it to his cock, encouraging him to touch himself. “I like it. Seein’ you like this… you’re beautiful.”

The almost reverent hush to Frank’s voice sinks into Matt’s nerves. He’s never experienced this side of Frank and it’s overwhelming and Matt needs _more_. Wrapping his hand around his cock, he hisses out a breath, his thumb swiping through the fluid dripping steadily from the tip.

Frank’s hands roam over Matt’s back, up to his shoulders, down to cup his ass, everywhere at once, a warm, grounding presence. He kisses his way back up to Matt’s ear, catching the lobe in his teeth and whispering quiet praise and adoration.

The dam’s broken and Matt’s not sure he’s managing to pant out any words other than Frank’s name as he jerks himself. Frank’s words aren’t even filthy anymore, but the weight of the emotions behind everything is more than Matt’s ever experienced, sending him to new, unexplored heights, and he’s so close, embarrassingly quickly, and it’s all he can do to hold himself back.

“Let me see, Matt, c’mon,” Frank rumbles, his hands moving to touch Matt’s face. Soft kisses press into Matt’s cheek, his brow, his lips. “Doin’ so good. Show me.”

Matt lets go, all his senses short-circuiting as he gives in to pleasure. Warmth floods over his hand and the harsh iron scent of his own come hits his nose, only to be replaced by _Frank_ – Frank’s lips, Frank’s tongue, Frank’s hands. He can taste something new on Frank’s tongue under the mellow arousal, something sweet and heady that he knows he’s tasted before, just buried beneath all the usual endorphins that go with sex. He kisses Frank back desperately, shivering and twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm until every nerve feels like it’s on fire.

Pulling away, Matt pants, every exhale coming out with a breathy little whine. Everywhere they’re touching almost hurts, the hair on Frank’s legs scratching against Matt’s bare skin, the rasp of his stubble feeling like sandpaper. He rolls onto his back next to Frank, who hovers but doesn’t touch. Come’s streaked up Frank’s abdomen, stray droplets collecting on his chest and Matt has to fight back a second wave of arousal at their combination of scent.

“You with me, Red?” Frank asks, a hint of concern colouring his voice. “Shit. That seemed more intense than last time; you alright?”

Matt manages to bark a laugh that he can feel deep in his chest. “That was more intense, yeah,” he breathes, letting himself to relax bonelessly into the mattress. “First time alcohol dulled everything a little bit.”

“It always like that?”

No. Nothing in Matt’s admittedly long sex life has ever felt like that. “Orgasm makes my senses all kind of boil over. I get overstimulated really easily – trade off for a short refractory period, I guess,” he says, taking the easy route and avoiding mentioning the feelings that’ve awakened in him and the chemical he can taste on Frank’s breath. “Do you want me to…” he waves a hand in the direction of Frank’s cock that’s half hard in his underwear.

“Nah, I’m good; friction does that. Let me know when I can touch you again,” Frank replies, shifting off the bed with a grunt. Matt can hear the whisper of silk as the fabric slides over Frank’s thighs and the _thump_ as the boxer briefs hit the hamper.

The buzz of electricity switching on in the bathroom is like an angry beehive to Matt’s sensitive hearing and he quickly finds something else to focus on – Frank’s heartbeat, strong and steady – to drown out the other noises.

Frank’s scent is mingled with the hypoallergenic soap when he returns, still naked, to bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he hesitates, his movements back to slightly guarded.

“C’mere,” Matt says, reaching out and brushing his hand over Frank’s bare hip. “Unless you prefer to have underwear?”

The air shifts around Frank, sending more scents tumbling Matt’s way. He moves onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Matt’s waist and sliding a muscular thigh between Matt’s. “Nah, I just want you,” he replies, pressing their foreheads together. “Might fall asleep though, if that’s okay.”

Matt laughs, pressing his palm to Frank’s face, mapping out his expression. “Aren’t I the one who should be falling asleep here?”

“Emotional release. Don’t strain yourself thinkin’, Red, just relax.”

Kissing Frank gently, Matt hums in agreement and smiles as Frank tucks his face into his neck. He cards his fingers through Frank’s hair and it’s not long before Frank’s arching into it, making contented little grunts and relaxing fully against Matt.

“Thanks for trusting me,” Matt murmurs into Frank’s hair, sleep hovering at the edges of his mind.

Frank’s there too, his pulse slowing and his breathing evening out. He mutters something that sounds like “go the fuck to sleep” and Matt grins, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Love you too, Frank.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me on [tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)


End file.
